Hermit of Helmut

Deep inside his hole
rejected, but not cold
the breath of god blew his door off it’s hinges
his threadbare pants worn down to the fringes
when peanut quake came, no cause for alarm
because he didn’t have one - he suffered his own personal storm

 when a dustup caused him to board up his most valued possessions
he found he had nothing - an old broken picture frame - with words etched in it - a carpenter’s nail - two paisley pillows - thought stained - from late night obsessions
So when, one morning, came a knock at the window
he thought he’d made it perfectly clear
he wanted no visitors!
save for hobble-goat John the Pauper
who was too tall to get in though..

still, he’d normally bear gifts
deep down inside of his waistcoat
past his heirloom match box
and his rat “Smudge” who talked
no time for that now, you’d agree
if, like me, you were he, and you were stuck in a daydream
of a far-away land
where a far-away woman
spoke a far-away language
some peculiar island dialect
but she was cute nonetheless
with the mole on her chest

And her wrist
and a family crest
abreast, two turtle doves
proof!
that the rest, as they say …
is love.
BUT what kind of ending would that be?!
a pretty predictable one
which could have been sadder
but in a steam-powered world
with the war for clean air raging

made worse by an uncontrollable bladder epidemic
and the hermit of helmut so snug in his bed
the most important thing,

 is always love
just like they said